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I want a guy who humps in the nude. I want a guy who brushes his teeth with his eyes open. I want a guy whoís a man. I want a guy who works heavy machinery. I want a guy who leans into it and pumps at that meatcutter with his groin. I want a guy whoís so passionate about his work that he makes love to it. I want a guy who drools a creek across the pillow. 

And letís be honest here. Iím no lady and I got thighs like the hock part of the ham and my skirts is too tight but I can damn sure touch my toes and yep you bet the cleavage at my back is in tight competition with the cleavage in my front and oh could I ever give you a wet willie. 

Iím in the grocery store. Iím gliding down the aisle towards the gleam in your hair. That hairís like a shiny balloon top or something. I want that gin blossom to trace the healthy proportionate bitch curve of my belly. I want a guy who drinks Merlot with a golden shower chaser and if you ainít him you will be soon. Oh goddamn it I want to bake you a pie so you can smash it in my face concurrent with the climax. A cherry one and oh Iíll show you some cherry. 

Letís make a ground beef plaster mold of your privates and make your beefdick enter a couple Butterballs. Hand me over some raw fish or alligator tail or turkey necks and Iíll hang them from these tits like the tassels your mama had nightmares about. I want to help you out. I want to scare you shitless. I want to show you the way around a t-bone and a ladydick and that erogenous part between the toes. 

I can hold a lemon in seven different places on my body. Iím serious as the heart attack I want to give you. Iím gonna put you in the babyseat and crash the cart at the dirty feminine aids aisle. Iíll figure-eight your ass from the donuts to them slivered salad almonds and if youíre any good you can use the time to pat these boob pillows, make you somewhere nice to lay your head.

Iím going to deliver your birthday cake out my womb. Itís a marble with buttercream frosting and its name is Anything Goes. Smack my ass to make sure itís breathing and Iíll smoke you a cigar from my lady parts in celebration. Blow you some smoke rings, lasso you in. 

I want a guy who parts his hair on the left. I want a guy whoíll lick my throat area. I want a guy whoíll finger my back cleavage. I want a guy who owns tools. I want a guy who collects ratshit. I want a guy donít like to read. I want a guy whoíll slash my tires. I want a guy who hates a pinky in his ass.

I got ripples of fat for you to skip your gonads on. I got a forehead for teabagging. I want you to sandpaper me a rough spot on the insides of my thighs with your dumbass unshaven cheeks. I want to trim your nose hair with my incisors. Make me a pendant from your earwax. Hold you in front of the fridgedoor till your willer shrivels to a peanut. 

Iím in your line. Thereís no undies under these skirts and there never will be. You dribble some sausageblood, Iíll bend to wipe it. You want a closer look youíll have to ask and Iíll have to squat. Take my order. I want a pound of fuckmeat and some fattypart skewers. Iíll shish kabob your loins and there ainít gonna be any leftovers. 

Iím pretty cause I say so. You got shit for brains but thatís the way I like it. Long as you been around the ass block and you drink your coffee black. Iíll be in the parking lot marking my territory up against your truck tires, pulling my shirt up and playing fried eggs against your windows. Bring me out a cowís tongue and a duckís liver and say yes or donít say anything, because you and your plasticlooking hair and your tiny lady nipples are mine and you ainít got no choice in the matter and anyway Iím driving.

[Forever after at http://eyeshot.net/meat.html]

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Here are our nominations for the 2008 StorySouth Million Writers thing
(for stories over 1000 words posted online in 2008):

Fuckbuddy by Roderic Crooks

Beach by Roberto Bolano (Translated by Riley Hanick)

On Ways of Dealing With Tripping in Public by Crispin Best

This story by Randa Jarrar won the first Million Writers thing in 2004.
We didn't nominate stories the last few years, thinking the whole thing
sort of silly, but this year we decided it's definitely a good thing for the
writers who win it, so why not try to make Roderic, Crispin, or Riley's day.
(Roberto is dead -- despite now being basically immortal.)